Losing Myself
by LIFE the RANGER
Summary: I've finally opened up about being gay, but in the small town of Meddleton, New York, anything that falls outside the lines is alienated. And me being gay is one of them. Now I'm slowly losing myself, and I can't find any other means of escape. My name? Percy Jackson. Rated M for language and suicide attempt. Please by nice, tis my first angsty story. One-shot!


Hey guys. Okay sorry it's so late, but this idea started coming to me as I tried to sleep (curse my stupid author brain). This will only be a one-shot, and it will be a Percy angsty kind of story. Enjoy it.

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Percy's POV

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Walking down the halls was a total nightmare. Eyes pried into my very being and tried to judge me. I know what they'd say. Gay. Dyke. Homo. List of long names I'd rather not mention. They laugh. They throw my things down the hall. They kick me and hit me and slam me into walls. They whispered and taunted and spread rumors. They. Hate. Me.

"Fucking fag," Annabeth whispered as she passed by me. Once upon a time, she was my best friend. I told her everything, she told me everything. That's how friendships work, right? You share your secrets and feel like you are the only person in the world they trust. But as soon as something steps out of their definition of perfect they freak and run away. That's what Annabeth did. I confided in her my biggest secret, and she freaked and fled. By the next morning, the whole school, the whole city knew. Percy Jackson, star football player, future ahead of him, was gay. According to the rumors, I'd been that way since middle school when I saw Luke Castellan changing in the boys locker room (while Luke was cute and all, he definitely wasn't my type). Truthfully, I'd only figured it out last year.

"Get away from me, sicko," Luke sneered, shoving me away, sending my papers scattering. As if that hadn't already happened a hundred times today. Luke was one of the main reasons my life was a living hell. He got a high from other's misery. He was sick. I guess I was too, but in a different way. Not falling in the status quo, the small town definition of perfect. Small town in New York State. Meddleton. Population, 6,497. And one gay. So make that 6,496. Odd one out. Fucking different. Not perfect.

The only bright side was mom. She never judged my choices, and she accepted my sexuality with open arms. I loved my mom. She loved me. She was all I had since my dad is a dick and walked out on her when she was pregnant with me. It was hard on her; it still is hard on her. She has to deal with all my bullshit when I get home. Anti-depressants. Mood controllers. Bunch of other medication they keep me doped up on.

"Sit down Percy," Mr. Brunner told me when I got into the room (five minutes late as usual). People snickered as I slid into my seat in the back of the room. Also good. It's away from the class, away from the eyes and lies and the lessons. Mr. Brunner rarely called on me for answers. No teacher did, really. I was content with that. At least Brunner's class was forty minutes long, forty minutes of bliss. Forty minutes of quiet, uninterrupted bliss, where not everyone stared and whispered and spread more lies.

"Dyke. Dyke. Dyke." God, it was like they were stuck on replay. "Homo. Home Homo. Fag. Fag. Fag." God, this was insufferable. I wanted to tear my eardrums out and burn them. I wanted to be deaf and blind and dumb, oblivious to the obvious. I wanted the hate to stop and get on its knees and die a slow, painful death. I wanted the torture of living every day to be lessened; I wanted to not be ashamed of who I was. I wanted to be free!

"Going home," I announced to the office after Brunner's class. The people inside barely looked up as they waved me onward. They were used to it by now. Percy, weirdo, sicko homo left every day after fourth hour, before lunch. Nobody missed me. No one cared. Not Annabeth. Not Luke. Not Grover. God, Grover. He hasn't said one word to me in over a year. We used to hang out every weekend, flittering between his place and mine. I called his mom mommy when I was little, and he did likewise. I was always welcome at his house, and he at mine. Now if I even set foot on their property his mom threatened to call the cops. She hated me too. Everyone did. Grover, I don't know. Whenever he looked at me he had this sort of sad look on his face, like he really wanted to talk to me, in a nice way no doubt. But he had to follow the crowd or risk the same torturous treatment as well. The last kid who stood up for me got picked on so much afterward the had a mental breakdown and his family moved all the way across the country and set up base in Oregon. I missed Jake. He was one of the only people who was nice to me after my initial coming out party (which only my mom and Jake came to).

"Your home early," my mom commented lightly as I stepped into the apartment. That was our usual conversation. She'd comment on me being home, and I'd shrug, and we'd leave it at that. She knew school was tough for me so she never pushed me to go back. She set blue velvet cake in front of me, and I devoured it for lunch. Also all routine. When I went home after school (before everyone else), I was greeted with a multitude of sweets and comfort food. She did that purposely, so afterwards I'd take my pills. All five of them, some almost as long as my pinkie. Oh well. They kept me grounded, sane, safe. Mom was afraid of losing me. I was afraid of losing myself. So I took them like the good son, chasing them down with Vanilla Coke, my favorite. I disappeared into my room to start on my school work, for Brunner only.

"Mom, know where my pencil case is?" I asked, rifling around my desk for it. She tossed it to me through my open doorway, and I caught it with ease. Fast reflexes from football, check. I swiveled around a few times, then abandoned my homework all together. I couldn't concentrate. What Luke and Annabeth said, it really struck a nerve. They were right. I was a fag. I was a sicko. But all the same, I didn't go around sexing up every boy that stood in front of me. I was a decent man, I'd never even had a boyfriend before. I also was still Percy Jackson, and I still had feelings that could be hurt and broken. I still cared what others thought of me. Odd one out. Not perfect. Fucking weird and different. It hurt. A lot. More than I cared to admit sometimes.

Sighing, I flung my book across the room. It smacked against the wall, and I winced at how loud it was. School was fucked up. Was all of this really worth it? Was this worth the torture and the fighting and the lies about me? No! I dragged my chair over to my fan (which mom helpfully installed so I wouldn't die in the heat), and draped my only tie over one of the blades. Securing it around my neck, I sent a little prayer to my mom. I didn't want to do this to her. But at the same time, I didn't want to deal with this shit anymore. I kicked away my chair, and the last thing I remembered was my mom's scream.

….

God, what was I doing here? It was some sort of hospital, I knew that by looking at the walls. They were white as fucking Christmas. And there was a light shining directly into my eyes. If that wasn't corrected soon I was gonna punch the living daylights out of someone. I struggled to sit up, but something held me back. Restraints? I was held in bed by fucking restraints! Someone tapped on the glass, wait, glass? I turned to look. It was my mom, tears in her eyes, behind a glass window. Curses! I was in a mental institute (also apparently for those who are a little on the suicide side).

"Percy," one of the many white clad doctors said to me as he carefully maneuvered his way around small tables and one chair and the IV drip attached to my arm (how'd that get there?). "How do you feel?" How do I feel? I feel like someone fucked up my escape, that's how I feel!

"Oh you know doc," I sneered sarcastically. "Like a peaches and cream. Rainbows and butterflies and sunshine. All's good in Percyville, except, you know, I just tried to hang myself from my fan. No biggie." The doctor gave me a funny look, and I laughed in his face. I needed my meds now or I was going off the loony bin. Trust me, that wouldn't be pretty.

"Percy, I know you've dealt with a lot," he said to me quietly. Ya think, doc? Spend a day in my shoes. Once you go gay you never go back. "Your mom told the staff a little about happened to you, both at home and at school."

"No shit, Sherlock," I seethed. How dare this doctor question me like he was? I had enough emotional bullshit to deal with without him adding onto it. "I hate how kids treat me. I hate them. They hate me. It's a mutual thing. Even the teachers rarely talk to me. Wanna know why?" I leaned up so I was directly in his face. He didn't even flinch. Brave soul. "Because. I'm. GAY!" I screamed that last part, and he pulled back slowly, pretending to wipe spit from his face. Despite how unstable and angry I was, I smiled. He let out a low chuckle and touched my shoulder gently. That was the first time someone other than my mom has touched me. It felt nice.

…

They finally gave me my mood controllers, but they monitored me when I took them. I didn't care. This place was better than school. Cleaner. Friendlier. People here smiled and shook my hand like I'm a normal person and not some infectious disease. The nurses smiled, and the male doctors talked and laughed and joked with me. I haven't got that kind of treatment in over a year. You kndow why. I laughed for the first time in a year and a half. I stopped laughing when I was trying to figure myself out. When I finally came to terms with it, it was supposed to be a happy moment. Joyous. A day to celebrate. The only person celebrating was me. Pity party for one.

"You look great today Percy," another one of the patients, Logan, said. "And smoking hot too." I smiled and wiggled my eyebrows at him suggestively. "Jackson, you know that's not fair." He gave me a peck on the cheek before turning and heading to the rec room. Like me, he was here for attempted suicide. Also like me, he was gay (couldn't you tell?).

"I like it here," I decided, walking towards my room. No more restraints for me. They said I was making good progress. I was happier. I was stable. Yes, I still had to take meds for my up and down mood, but all in all my mood was improved. I was no longer afraid of losing myself.

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Annabeth's POV

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My first reaction when I heard Percy was in a mental hospital was this; relief. He was away from me, fucking fag. But I guess the more I thought about it, the more I was going to miss him. We were best friends, a long time ago. A year? It was only a year ago? Wow. Time flies when you aren't paying that close of attention.

"Do you ever wonder if he'll come back?" I asked Katie Gardner. By him, of course I meant Percy. She knew it too, and wrinkled her nose. That within itself was all the answer I needed. I let her continue, anyway.

"Good riddance," she spat. I winced. God, was this what we were doing to him? Slowly making him feel unwanted, to the point where he'd rather end his own life than live with us? Now I felt kind of bad for all the awful things I said to him for the last year.

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Luke's POV

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Percy was in a mental hospital? Good. He can stay there. Fag deserves to keep away from our perfect town of perfect people. He stepped outside of the status quo in a big way, and no one liked it. I'm pretty sure he spied on all the boys as we changed.

"You know he tried to kill himself, right?" asked Malcolm when I told him this. I smiled evilly.

"Good," I said, and he just shook his head.

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Grover's POVdis

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God, I missed Percy. My mom threatened to disown me if I so much as looked at him. He was my childhood friend, for crying out loud! And I'd witnessed firsthand the torment he went through on a regular basis, the taunts and the hits and the scattering of his papers. I hated the way people treated him. Just because he was gay doesn't mean he was a different Percy. The football team refused to let him play when he was first starting to show it around school, and then the coach kicked him off the team. Said his gayness was affecting the ability of the team. How the fuck does that work?

"Good for him to finally go away," my mom said with the biggest smile on her face. I wanted to hit her. It was people like her that drove him to that point. It wasn't just the people. It was the idea of perfectionism that ran deep in our town. That you had to be a model student and stay within the lines. And when someone finally challenged the ideas of the town, they freaked and tried to shove them farther and farther away, almost to the point they felt like they were all alone. No wonder Percy said (way early on) he was afraid to lose himself. He didn't fit our definition of perfect, so no one would treat him as such.


End file.
